


Of the Night

by kkenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missions Gone Wrong, Poor Obi-Wan, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkenobi/pseuds/kkenobi
Summary: While on a mission to a warring planet, sixteen year old Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi is kidnapped and nearly killed, before a mysterious woman saves him by turning him into something else.The council and healers are concerned, his master is just glad he's alive, and Obi-Wan's annoyed he's going to be stuck looking like a sixteen year old forever.





	Of the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SWModdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWModdy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Under Moonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/342582) by swpromptsandasks. 



Obi-Wan fought for breath as he felt his lungs fill with blood, broken ribs puncturing them from when he’d be thrown hard into a wall by his captor.

 

Their mission had been a disaster from the very start. The warring tribes had quickly separated him from his Master, and though Obi-Wan was able to fight, he was not yet adept at purging his system of poisons, leading to his being drugged and kidnapped.

 

At only 16 he was considered to be far ahead of other Padawans his age. Master Qui-Gon had even told him that the council was considering granting him the title of Senior Padawan.

 

It was too bad it seemed like he was going to die before that happened.

 

He could feel ribs shift as he took a shallow breath, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He had always known that there was a very good chance that he would die a Jedi. He just hadn’t thought it would be when he was still a Padawan.

 

Master Qui-Gon would be heartbroken.

 

There was a yell in the corridor that sounded like it was from light-years away, then the sound of screaming. He idly hoped that it would be someone who would put him out of his misery.

 

He didn’t think it was his master – he thought that he would be able to sense his master even though his captors had put an inhibitor around his neck. That, and there were no telltale sounds of a lightsaber.

 

Whoever it was, he didn’t think it was someone who was going to help him.

 

He rolled painfully over, stubbornly trying to face to door to his cell. If he was going to die, he wanted to at least see death coming for him.

 

After several agonizing minutes of hearing the sounds of a battle war with the sound of his too fast heartbeat, the door clanged open, and a strange women stared down at him in shock and no small amount of anger.

 

In the blink of an eye she was kneeling at his side, not worrying about his blood staining her pale blue dress. Freezing hands touched his face.

 

“How old are you child?”

 

Obi-Wan stared at her in confusing, shivering at the touch of her hands. “Hmmm?”

 

A sad smile. “How old are you?”

 

“Six… sixteen,” he whispered, weakly coughing up more blood.

 

“You are much to young to die,” she stated, a note of command in her voice.

 

In spite of himself Obi-Wan wanted to laugh. “I…” he stopped to take a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I have a choice… in the matter…” he muttered.

 

She put a slender arm under his legs, and another under his back, before hoisting him into her arms with what seemed to be no effort at all.

 

He blinked at her in confusion. He knew that he was small for his age, and too skinny (at least according to Qui-Gon and Master Che), but she was even smaller then he was.

 

“Pardon?” He asked, hearing her say something as she walked out of the room and past the dismembered bodies of the prison guards.

 

She brought him outside, and set him against a tree. Obi-Wan stared up at her, wondering if it was the moonlight making her look so pale, or something else.

 

“Do you want to die child?”

 

Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes and he shook his head, black spots dancing in from of his eyes. He could feel consciousness leaving him, and he knew that if he fell asleep he wouldn’t wake again. “No,” he sobbed, hating that he was tasting the coppery tang of blood. “I don’t want to die.”

 

She was suddenly kneeling at his side, but he was to weak to flinch away. “I can make it so you live,” she said, a note of promise in her voice. Dark hair fell around her unnaturally bright eyes. “I can ensure that you survive this.”

 

He stared at her, panting for breath.

 

“Do you want to live?”

 

“Yes,” he whimpered, feeling like he was begging.

 

Then his world exploded into pain. Sharp pricks lanced his wrist, and fire spread through his veins. He felt himself weakening, before something was held to his mouth, and a sibilant voice encouraged him to drink. He latched onto what was offered, and began to swallow.

 

He could feel his ribs snap back into place, and his lungs expand with air instead of blood. His shattered femur and pelvis shuddered before starting to knit themselves back together. He tried to open his eyes, to see the strange woman, but cool (no longer freezing, the analytical part of his mind noted) hands brushed over his face, keeping his eyes closed.

 

He felt ravenous.

 

With more energy he sat up, eagerly lapping at the thick liquid he was being offered. It was more delicious and satisfying then anything he’d ever tried before.

 

“Shhhh,” the soft voice soothed. “I have you my child.”

 

He licked his lips, and this time was allowed to open his eyes. The woman was crouched in front of him, blood covering her pale arm. She was staring at him with hungry eyes.

 

He panted for breath, relishing in the lack of pain. “What did you do?” He asked, astounded that he was still alive.

 

She smiled. “You wanted to live,” she answered simply. “And you will.”   She stood up, and he stared up at her dizzily. “Now,” she said, staring off into the distance. “Sleep.”

 

Despite wanting to argue, Obi-Wan felt his eyes dropping again his will, and he dropped into a deep, sated sleep.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon ran up the hill, following the trail of broken bodies with mounting fear that he didn’t even attempt to release into the Force.

 

The mission was a complete and utter disaster.

 

Within an hour of landing one of the tribes had attacked the other, leading to a full-scale battle. Qui-Gon had quickly lost track of his Padawan in the melee, and to his intense fear, had not been able to locate him.  

 

Several days into the fighting there had been the sensation of extreme pain from the boy, and then silence.

 

Qui-Gon hadn’t sensed anything from his Padawan since. He knew the child was alive, but with a force blocker seemingly in effect, he didn’t know how long it would stay that way. Obi-Wan could die and he potentially wouldn’t be able to tell until the inhibitor was removed.

 

Then one of the tribe leaders mentioned a prison, deep in the other tribe’s territory. A place where those considered dangerous were taken.

 

Qui-Gon had left immediately.

 

He slowed to a cautious walk, looking dispassionately at the bodies littering the walkway. Someone, or something, had attacked the prison. He only hoped that they had spared his Padawan.

 

A small figure was standing in the distance, form silhouetted against the moon. They were about the same size as Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon felt a prickle on the back of his neck as he stared at them.

 

Then they were suddenly in front of him.

 

He fought the urge to attack, sensing from the Force that this being was not a threat to him.

 

“You are looking for the child,” they said, pulling back a hood to revel an abnormally pale woman of indeterminable age.

 

“Yes,” he answered rather desperately.

 

“He is my child now as well,” she stated mysteriously.

 

Qui-Gon chose not to answer. “Take me to him, please.”

 

She smiled, before gesturing behind her.

 

Qui-Gon stared, before breaking into a run. At the base of a large tree lay the crumpled and bloody form of his Padawan, curled up on his side in the fetal position.

 

“Obi-Wan!” He shouted in terror, dropped to his knees behind the small form, and immediately reaching out to check his pulse. “What in the force,” he murmured, feeling the freezing skin under his touch and the stronger then normal pulse thrumming under his fingers. He carefully checked the boy over for other injuries, feeling more and more disconcerted as he discovered none.

 

He looked up, sensing the strange woman standing beside him. “What happened to him?” he asked, pulling the boy he loved as a son into his arms and tried in vain to warm him up.

 

She gracefully sat down beside him, brushing a tender finger along Obi-Wan’s check. Qui-Gon noted that Obi-Wan seemed just as pale as she did.

 

“He was going to die,” she stated. “He had broken ribs that had punctured his lungs, a shattered femur, shattered pelvis, and massive internal bleeding. All the Force healing in the world would not have been able to save him.”

 

Qui-Gon tightened his grip on the small form in his arms, feeling a chill in his heart. “Yet he lives.”

 

“Yes,” she answered simply, staring at Obi-Wan with an intensity that made Qui-Gon nervous. “I asked him if he wanted to.”

 

Qui-Gon stared at her in confusion. “What did you do,” he demanded.

 

She looked into his eyes, and Qui-Gon felt the need to shudder. Her eyes were a pale grey, but seemed to glow from within and stare deep into his very soul. “He will live,” she answered, not blinking. “Though he will no longer be completely human.”

 

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. “I don’t understand.”

 

“What do you know about this planet, Qui-Gon Jinn?”

 

He jerked in uncharacteristic surprise, staring at her with wide eyes.

 

He hadn’t told her his name.

 

“Very little,” he admitted. “The senate and council received word that two tribes were warring, and that a third tribe requested aid.”

 

“Your senate should have sent more then the two of you,” she noted.

 

He nodded in ruefully agreement, worriedly resting his head again Obi-Wan’s russet spikes.

 

“I am from the third tribe,” she stated. “You refer to us a different tribes, when we are in reality different species.” She looked back down at Obi-Wan. “He is now one of us.”

 

Qui-Gon fought the urge to panic. “What does that mean?” He asked, trying not to sound like he was demanding anything from this maddening woman.

 

“Those in my tribe born are immortal. We grow until we are adults, then cease to age,” she explained. “However, we can also gift others with our particular brand of immortality. This child is one such creature now.”

 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, desperately releasing his worry and frustration into to Force. She was purposely being vague. “And what does that mean for Obi-Wan?” He asked again, some of his fear leaking into his voice.

 

She looked up from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon, strange eyes almost sad.

 

“He is immortal, like us. He will no longer age, no longer grow. He is, in a sense, stopped in time.”

 

Qui-Gon felt the air leave his lungs.

 

“He can still be killed, but it will be much more difficult. Decapitation, an injury to the heart, falling from extreme height, injuries of that severity will kill him. But his body will be able to filter poison, he will heal rapidly, and he can even survive in the vacuum of space, at least for a brief amount of time.”

 

Qui-Gon stared at her in disbelief. “You are a vampire,” he whispered. “I have heard legends of your kind.”

 

She nodded. “I fed from him, and then fed him in turn.” She said. “He is my child, and I am his creator.”

 

“How do I keep him safe?” Qui-Gon asked, mind going a mile a minute.

 

The vampire’s smile was now more genuine. “The tales of our kind burning in the sun are lies, our eyes are simply more sensitive to it’s light. We can eat normal food, and drink normal drinks. We do need sleep, just less then humans do.”

 

“But you need to drink blood to survive.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed easily. “We do.”

 

Qui-Gon took a shuddering breath, concerned about how still his Padawan was in his arms. “What does that mean for Obi-Wan?”

 

“Turned vampire, such as him, do not need to feed often,” she explained softly. “Once a week will be sufficient in the beginning, then as he gains better control, prehaps once a month.”

 

“How will he feed?”

 

“If you are both comfortable he can feed from you,” she said. “A mouthful will not harm you, and it will keep him satiated. He will need human, or near-human, blood however.”

 

Qui-Gon nodded. “I cannot always be with him,” he said, feeling remarkably calm at the though of his Padawan drinking his blood.

 

His boy was alive, that was all that mattered.

 

She shrugged, a startling casual gesture. “There are blood bags,” she said unconcernedly. “And I am sure you and your council can figure something out for him.”

 

She suddenly stood. “Come, I will accompany you to your ship, and you and Obi-Wan will leave this planet. We should have never asked for aid in the first place.”

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon carefully re-did Obi-Wan’s braid, taking his time with the silky strands. He was concerned with his Padawan’s prolonged unconsciousness, despite being told it was to be expected, and didn’t want to leave his side to report to the council. The council had been remarkably calm, and allowed Qui-Gon to deliver Obi-Wan to the healers ward without a token of protest.  

 

Now they were “requesting” his presence.

 

Qui-Gon finished the braid, before stroking Obi-Wan’s cheek and turning on heel, bracing himself for the upcoming council session.

 

He stalked through the familiar halls of the temple, mind on his conversations with the healers when he’d brought Obi-Wan into the ward. None of the healers had even seen a vampire, and most of them hadn’t really believed they’d existed until faced with Obi-Wan. They were a little lost on how to treat him.

 

In the end they’d settled on simplicity. A contained room with an observation window, and a bottle of human blood in stasis on the table next to Obi-Wan. His healer was a besalisk, whose blood they hoped was different enough from human to not tempt the recently turned Padawan. They’d recommended that Qui-Gon remaine away, but the Jedi Master had refused.

 

“Master Jinn!”

 

Qui-Gon glanced over at the Padawan guarding the outside of the council chamber.

 

He raised an eyebrow.

 

“They’re ready for you,” the Padawan stated before bowing low.

 

Qui-Gon stifled a groan when he walked in and saw the full council in attendance.

 

Just what he needed.

 

“Left from Teran before gaining permission from the council you did,” Yoda started, staring at him with heavy lidded eyes.

 

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. “The situation on Teran is worse then we were led to believe, and would require far more then a Master and Padawan team to help.”

 

A small hum was Yoda’s noncommittal response.

 

“And happened to your Padawan?” Depa Bilaba asked, concern on her dusky face.

 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly to centre himself. “We were separated within several hours of landing. The tribes were remarkably organized, and incredibly violent. Obi-Wan was severely injured, captured, and forced into an inhibitor collar.”

 

Adi Gallia looked up in confusion. “The preliminary healers report stated that Padawan Kenobi is resting peacefully and has no injuries,” she said with a note of question in her voice.

 

Qui-Gon hesitated before answering. “He was rescued by a member of the third tribe,” he said slowly. “She was able to heal his injuries.”

 

“Which were?” Mace asked in genuine curiosity.

 

“Broken ribs, punctured lung, internal bleeding from multiple points, shattered left femur, and shattered pelvis.” Qui-Gon listed, feeling ill as he did so.

 

Sharp green eyes looked into his. “No longer completely human, is Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda said, startling Qui-Gon.

 

But then again, Yoda had always excelled at fantastical leaps of logic. It was what made him so good at being a Jedi.

 

Yareal Poof looked at his fellow councilor in surprise. “What in the Force do you mean?”

 

“The woman that healed him did so by feeding on his blood, and having him feed on hers in return.” Qui-Gon explained.

 

Saesen Tinn stared at him in obvious surprise. “You mean to tell us that your Padawan was saved, and apparently turned, by a vampire?”

 

Master Poof huffed out a breath of air. “Vampire’s are myths, tales told to scare children.”

 

“Apparently not,” Adi said, scrolling through an update healers report. “Kenobi’s very cellular structure has changed.”

 

Sharp dark eyes focused on Adi. “How so?” Mace demanded.

 

“The healers want to do more research,” she started, “but it seems as though Obi-Wan will no longer be easily injured, will heal with much greater speed and…” she trailed off.

 

“And what, Adi,” Qui-Gon asked desperately.

 

“It appears that he will no longer age.”

 

Mace snorted despite the seriousness of the situation, drawing several glares from his fellow council members. “He’s going to love that.”

 

Qui-Gon felt a smile tug on his lips. Stuck as a petite sixteen year old for the rest of his life.

 

Obi-Wan was going to be livid.

 

“There is,” Depa started. “One potential safety issue to this situation.”

 

“Oh?”

 

She grimaced. “Legends, and your report and that from the healers,” she said to Qui-Gon on the council. “Indicate that Padawan Kenobi will need human blood to survive.”

 

“The… woman… that turned him seemed to think that he will need blood once a week until he gains control and understanding of his new state of being,” Qui-Gon said, brow furrowing. “After that, once a month will be sufficient unless he is injured in some way.”

 

“Perhaps,” Adi said, scrolling through the healer’s report. “The healers will be able to figure out what exactly he needs from the blood, how much, and why, and somehow create a pill or injection for him.”

 

Qui-Gon smiled, a weight lifting off his shoulders. He had had a moment panic on the trip back to the Temple, that the council would deem Obi-Wan too dangerous and expel of the temple to make his own way in the world. It seems his fear had thankfully been pointless.

 

A soft presence prickled at the back of his mind suddenly, and Qui-Gon stood straighter. “Masters,” he said, interrupted what seemed to be an intense discussion about how to make blood into a pill.

 

“What,” Mace said, looking at him grumpily.

 

“Obi-Wan is waking up,” he stated. “I would like to be nearby when he does.”

 

Mace opened his mouth to reply, but Yoda beat him to it. “Go to your Padawan, you should,” he ordered. “Dismissed you are.”

 

Mace threw Yoda a startled look before meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes. “We would like to be kept updated on Padawan Kenobi’s situation,” he said, a spark of worry in his eyes.

 

“A council member will be by the ward once we are finished here,” Adi said.

 

Qui-Gon nodded again, before bowing to the council (who ignored him in favour of continuing their discussion on blood pills verses a reconstituted powder) and left the room, desperate to get back to the small child in the healers ward.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan wrinkled his brow, bright lights penetrating his eyes. It hurt, and seemed brighter than any lights he’d seen before. Hu turned his head to the side, trying to escape them.

 

He then took a deep breath, wondering why he felt like he could taste the air itself, the molecules in the room, the taste of medical supplies.

 

The unique smell of the healer’s ward.

 

Why was he in the healer’s ward?

 

Why was he even alive?

 

The last thing he remembered was being carried out of a prison cell, a strange woman, and being asked if he wanted to live.

 

He shouldn’t have lived though. There was no way he should have survived his injuries. He had felt himself dying, felt his very life force draining away.

 

He’d told the women he wanted to live. He hadn’t expected her to be able to save him.

 

He finally forced open his eyes when he felt someone’s force presence in a nearby room. And smelt them.

 

He turned his head to the side, staring at the room in shock and awe. Everything was too bright, the details of the room more in focus then they’d ever been before. He closed his eyes again, feeling vaguely nauseous.

 

And starving.

 

“Padawan Kenobi?” A gentle voice called much too loudly. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?”

 

Obi-Wan moaned, weakly covering his ears.

 

“Can you open your eyes for me, Obi-Wan,” came the voice again, though this time much more quietly.

 

Obi-Wan wanted to burrow back into the blankets, or somehow teleport to his quarters and bed, but knew from experience that healers get awfully pushy when you ignored them.

 

He opened his eyes again, squinting at the besalisk healer standing beside him. “Mmmmmm,” he grunted, not able to move his tongue enough to speak.

 

“That’s it,” Healer Zam said encouragingly. “Try and stay awake, hmmm?”

 

Obi-Wan rolled his head to the side, feeling panic and something else well up in his chest.

 

Force, why was he so hungry?

 

He felt like he hadn’t eaten in years, like the hunger was clouding his judgment and…

 

“…Wan?”

 

He focused on the voice, “yes?” He finally managed to croak, viciously stamping down on the odd hunger.

 

“I know you’re feeling strange, but I need to try and stay focused on me, alright?”

 

Obi-Wan gave a small nod, the room spinning at the movement.

 

Healer Zam’s smiled widened. “Good lad. Now, I’m going to give you something to drink, and it should make you feel more… settled.”

 

Having already learned his lesson, Obi-Wan gave a murmur of consent, a small part of him wondering what was happening to him. The other, larger part was more concerned with the all-encompassing hunger.

 

A bottle was held to his lips, and Obi-Wan sipped at it cautiously.

 

It was delicious.

 

Better then the sip of Correlian Brandy Master Qui-Gon had let him have on his sixteenth birthday, better then Aldaranian chocolate, better then anything he’d ever tasted. He clumsily tried to grab the bottle, before his hands were batted away. He squashed down the urge to growl at the offense, and drank feverishly,

 

Several minutes (hours?) later, he noticed that he was feeling more in control, and a broad hand was stroking his back while two deep voiced softly spoke above him.

 

He let the bottle drop from his mouth, blinking up at the man holding him.

 

“Master?” He croaked. 

 

Qui-Gon smiled, laugh lines appearing around his eyes. “Obi-Wan,” he said, sounding hugely relieved. He caught Obi-Wan’s drink when his hands went slack, hugging the boy to his chest after he set it down on the bedside table.

 

Obi-Wan stayed silent for a moment, listening to his masters thudding heartbeat. “What happened to me?” He finally asked.

 

The hand stroking his back stilled for a slit second, before resuming. “What makes you think something happened, young one?”

 

Obi-Wan shook his head weakly, unable to articulate the strange hunger, how everything seemed brighter and louder, and how his senses were changed.

 

Qui-Gon sighed, leaning back on the bed with Obi-Wan cradled in his arms. Normally Obi-Wan would protest at being held like a child, but right now it felt too good.

 

“What do you remember about out mission to Teran, Padawan?”

 

“Not very much Master,” he replied. “I remember the fighting starting, and us being separated. I think I was shot with something? Is that why I feel so strange?”

 

Qui-Gon shifted again, moving Obi-Wan’s head so he could look him in the eyes. “”It was a tranqualizer dart,” he explained. “They kidnapped you and brought you to a high security prison.” His grip tightened almost to the point of pain. “You were seriously injured, and healed by a member of the third tribe before I found you.”

 

Obi-Wan searched his Master’s stress lined face. “You’re leaving an awful lot out,” he stated dryly.

 

Qui-Gon grimaced. “Yes, I am,” he readily admitted. “I thought you were going to die, Obi-Wan,” he finally rasped.

 

Obi-Wan lay his head back on the master’s chest, an odd (even stranger then the hunger) feeling in his cheat. “I should have,” he finally whispered. “I remember fading,” he explained. Qui-Gon stayed silent, though his arms spasmed, and his anxiety leaked into the force. Also, Obi-Wan noted, into the very air as a scent. “I should be dead.” This time he was the one that drew back from the embrace. Qui-Gon looked pained, and his eyes were sad as they looked down at him.

 

“Yes,” he answered soberly. “You should be,” he took a deep breath. “Several ribs were broken, one of them piercing your left lung. Massive internal bleeding, and several broken bones. Your pelvis and left femur were completely shattered.”

 

“How am I…” he trained off, feeling confused.

 

“And a concussion,” Qui-Gon finished lamely.

 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

 

His master sighed. “A member of the elusive third tribe,” he answered.

 

“Apparently we need them to visit Coruscant and teach out healers,” Obi-Wan said drly.

 

The scent of anxiousness abruptly changed to one of trepidation, even though there was no change on the other man’s face.

 

“Master?”

 

“How did you feel when you woke up, Obi-Wan?”

 

Obi-Wan stayed silent for a long moment, searching Qui-Gon’s face. “Starving,” he finally answered. “I felt starving.” He frowned, looking away from his master’s face to the drink abandoned on the bedside table. In it was a thick red substance, with a familiar coppery scent. “Master?” He said, feeling sick as the knowledge of what had happened started to come to him. 

 

“Oh child,” Qui-Gon said, pulling him back to his chest.

 

“What am I?” Obi-Wan cried, chocking back a sob.

 

“Shhhh,” Qui-Gon soothed. “You are Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said in response.

 

 _“But what am I?”_ He asked again, bordering on hysterical.

 

“You were saved mb being turned into a vampire,” Qui-Gon answered bluntly. “But that does not change who you are dear one.”

 

“I’m a monster now?!!?!” He shrieked, breath coming in fast pants.

 

Qui-Gon tilted his head, meeting his eyes. “Never say that about yourself,” he ordered sternly. “So you need blood to survive, so what?”

 

Obi-Wan let out a shuddering breath, small hands fisting his master’s robes. Large hands ran over his back and his head, soothing him with the force.

 

“We will figure this out Padawan,” came the deep rumble.

 

“But how?!”

 

Qui-Gon moved Obi-Wan carefully, tucking his head under his chin. “The healers are talking about making blood pills for you, for lack of a better term. Once they figure out the properties that you need, they will be able to make something for you. You are not the only one in the temple who has specific needs. And the need for blood isn't even the oddest one. There was a Jedi who needed to eat mud from a very specific planet and place once.”

 

“But…”

 

“No buts child,” Qui-Gon soothed. “We will figure this out.” He tightened his grip. “You are alive and well,” he sighed. “That is what matters. The rest we can deal with.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, finally allowing himself to be soothed by his master’s presence. He could still hear the thump of his master’s heartbeat in his ear; smell his sweat and, somehow, his nervousness. But despite all that he could smell his master’s love for him.

 

He sucked in a breath, ignoring his strange hunger with a great deal of willpower.

 

"If vampires really don't age, will I be stuck looking like I'm sixteen forever?"

 

There was a startled movement, before his master burst out laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't be bothered to get into the medical side of things... so let's just pretend that all made sense, okay? 
> 
> I have some more written (unfinished, but the ideas are there and outlines are too) so let me know if anyone wants to read some more! But please let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Merry Christmas (December first counts shhhh) to SWModdy!


End file.
